


i wish i was the moon

by forpeaches (bluecarrot)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, F/M, Masturbation, Moon, Outdoor Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Sort Of, definitely, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/forpeaches
Summary: brienne takes a bath.(a missing scene.)





	i wish i was the moon

**Author's Note:**

> written 05 September 2019, after the Neko Case song would not leave my head.

“There’s a still place in the river down by the trees,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes in the near-darkness. “I’m going to bathe.”

He nodded.

And down she went, walking easy through the grass and out of his sight in the earth’s swelling curves.

She had her own curves — glimpsed, not seen. There was something hidden in her tunic that made it shift when she stretched; there was smooth muscle beneath the seat of her trousers. She bent forward all unconscious of it.

Jaime was conscious.

He knew by now what he wanted and the way he wanted it. Hadn’t it been shy to find? and subtle? It needed teasing, this desire, and slow patience. He rubbed it thoughtlessly when they rode together, watching her hips move and wondering how that would be — knowing how it would be, how she would move around him, opening to receive.

Soft and warm, firm and tight: and was she unlacing herself right now? Hands on skin. Slipping into the water. It rose between her legs and rose up bumps on her skin; he would lick it off her, sometime.

She dipped down and cupped it in her hand and washed herself _there_, not dawdling —

or maybe she did. Slipping in a finger; saying his name. She’d be wet from herself and wet from him, moving faster. Touching her own breasts too, pinching and rubbing the tender, sensitive skin.

The moonlight ran down over her naked shoulders, the crest of belly and breast, catching on her hair. Tonguing along places the sun didn’t see. Lascivious, hungry. Gentle. She wouldn’t even notice it was there; she wouldn’t know what she was giving, and nothing at all would be lost.

The river heard her cry out, the grasses and marshes dragged against her blushing and heat, cooling her down again now.

Deep in the grass, far from the riverbank, Jaime lay on his back and wished he were the moon, tonight.


End file.
